


Home

by LesnaVra



Category: Gintama
Genre: Brotherly Love, Childhood Friends, Gen, Joui 4, Joui War, Post Joui War, Pre-Joui War, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 09:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18029423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesnaVra/pseuds/LesnaVra
Summary: Home is not necessarily a material place, it's mostly a bunch of people making you feel you belong somewhere. Gintoki's memories from his childhood and war about the bond among Joui 4.NOW: available with a fanart illustration!





	Home

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Dom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950622) by [LesnaVra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesnaVra/pseuds/LesnaVra). 



When the first quarrels broke off about who was older, thus who was supposed to be listened to and who could be indulged, Zura told him that there was nothing wrong in not remembering one's age. He proposed that in that case they could simply share his own year of birth. But, he added, if he preferred, the boy could become his older or younger brother, or even a bit of this and that.

 

That day, when Gintoki learned some chaps bothered Zura on his weekly way to the graveyard, he decided to become an older brother to this wig-headed idiot. That was why, following his childish logics, he challenged a friend-to-be to a spontaneous duel . Translating it to the adult-language, he threw himself on the boy the moment he saw him, dangerously swinging his wooden sword. After all he was obliged by his newly assumed position to teach him a lesson for putting on airs (oh, little Sakata was simply jealous of Zura's high marks even though he officially looked down on crammers). In the same time he wanted to show him the true way of the sword and teach him how to defend himself. Before the situation got out of hand, Sensei intervened.

But the episode didn't antagonize the boys or dissuaded them from fighting. In the evening, already in the bedroom, Gintoki continued to show Zura all the cuts and thrusts, claiming that half of them were actually his original. He danced with an imaginary sword, chattering incessantly, delighted by the sparkling interest in the comrade's eyes. This evening he might have even said more words than though all his stay at school up to now.

Never ending fighting ideas were probably the product of his childish imagination that transformed and spitted out the traumatic images he had drained with while wandering through battle fields. This time however they didn't appear in the form of nightmares. He was no longer chased by demons, he was the demon himself, who, alongside with the new comrade, chased anyone who dared to threaten them.

 

Shinsuke watched the whole commotion for a while with a theatric disapproval on his face, but envy took better of him and he joined them to finally show the kids how a true samurai should move - of course he knew better than any of these two idiots. The trio had so much fun (but if you had asked them they'd have answered deadly serious that it was no child play, but a rigorous training of almost adult warriors) fighting side by side against imaginary Amantos, saving each other from a certain death and taking in turns the role of a sword tutor and his pupils. That time they decided to become the triplet brothers and it didn't matter to them that their actual birthdays varied (Gintoki just picked up his favorite day), they had different parents and even more different social background. That day for the first time they lay their futons together to keep discussing the best movements.

 

However, the demons didn't give up so easily. They tried to haunt Gintoki in his sleep. But his brothers, even though they were new, rose to the challenge. Shinsuke went away to make hot tea and steal a sword from sensei, which the boy was found with. For weeks the kid had been carryng the blade around, hugging it for comfort as if it was his favorite stuffed toy. Meantime Zura stayed and clumsily combed through the white thatch with his spider-like hand as the boy refused to be left alone.

Gintoki decided that it wasn't so bad to become a younger brother once in a while and let the others take care of him.

 

Once they quarreled who was the best of their trio. But even the strongest Gintoki lost many sword fights to Takasugi. The bravest Shinsuke chickened out on going after the nightfall to the graveyard, which Zura visited frequently in the dark evenings. The same reasonable smart Zura would get outwitted by Sakata and would fall for his pranks like a naive kid. Sensei laughed that together they had it all, they were whole.

 

 

The war had been raging on. The school had been burned down, Sensei taken. They moved almost every night. The stream of places and human faces - new recruits, local allies or enemies flew before Gintoki's eyes like a never-ending film. When the adrenaline wore off after the battle, and their shrunken unit again hid in some abandoned temple, Shiroyasha surprisingly didn't feel detached from the reality. His three brothers' arms held him tightly to this world, not allowing him to drift away into despair or madness. And he held them too.

Wherever they went, wherever they happened to fight or camp, their home went along, giving them a respite in the form of familial comfort and touch. Gin unwound under this simple childish caressing, that had been chasing away his demons already for ten years. It gave him the feeling of intimacy, which he hadn't managed to experience through his casual affairs or short lived relationships yet. A hand on his head, usually this slim and gentle one, while the broader hand preferred to rest on his shoulders, would entangle in his constantly dishelmed hair, the thumb would move in slow circles on his temple. The long fingers brushed his hairline rhythmically, performing a mesmerizing dance on his nape. Bit by bit with each stroke the hand carried Gintoki far away from here, far away from evil, fear, from the shriek of the incessant war that gave life to Sakata and that planned to devour him soon; far away from his own screaming resounding in his soul.

 

Each of them carried something unexplainably familiar. Even though Shoka Sonjuku had turned to ashes a long time ago and no cherry trees blossomed upon the debris, Gintoki could sense in his friends' blood-stained haori, when they sat arm by arm by the crossfire, a fragrance of the warm spring that each year occupied the school yard. Even Sakamoto, who had never met Sensei, smelled like old wooden balks of his lost home, when they dragged each other to camp, being wounded or drunk. The new-found brother carried buoyancy and Shoyo's smile that hardly ever disappeared from his board face. Shinsuke inherited from his teacher an iron determination, Kotarou - concern and protective spirit, Gintoki - independent will. Together they were whole again. They were healed.

 

 

Alcohol rushed in his ears, sneered at his strong body, rendering it capable of nothing. But Gintoki still needed to drink more. His demons were too loud. He had to drown them out and he didn't care that he was almost lying on the counter in some lowly pub and people around were shooting him hostile glances. He had snapped at Kagura again, lied to Shimpachi, stole money from Otose-san. How many times had he sworn to himself to be a better person? Once Shiroyasha's promise was enough to build a truce with Bakufu, now Gintoki's words held lesser value that this rug on the floor, that cleaned after sickened guests. He was terrible , but his kids looked up to him with so much faith.

He was staring blankly on the black counter from a nose-long distance, trying not to think about anything, when he felt a hand landed in his hair. His body tensed, ready for a pull, remembering well the countless times when he had been kicked out of pubs. But the owner of the limb just sat leisurely on the next stool, his hand simply resting on the fallen samurai's head. Gently waiting. Announcing to all Gintoki's demons that this man had a place he belonged. When the hand stared its delicate dance through coarse, rope-like hair, the guilt jerked his body in a spasmodic series. For so many years he yearned, but he didn't want to, he couldn't come back to them. And finally his broken, deficient family came for him, trying clumsily to glue everybody back. To be whole again, salvaged -mostly from their own selves.

The hand combed the disheveled hairs tediously, not wanting to give up him. Crumbles by crumbles, it brought his soul closer and closer to this long-lost place, where the late spring blossomed and the sun-warmed dojo's floors smelled of old wood. That was enough, he didn't deserve more.

 "Gintoki, let's go home. Are you able to stand up?" a worried voiced demanded a reaction at last.

"I am homeee.... you're home, you're my home... and I took it all away from you ... hooomee."

"Not home, but Zura. Ops, you've got me here, it's Katsura."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be more than happy if you decide to leave your feedback.
> 
> The word "whole" and "heal" share the same root. So when you are "whole" you are also healthy in body and mind, you integrated all the parts of yourself, you are healed.
> 
> If you're interested in a fanart image, check it out on DA http://fav.me/dd9oq0e


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